


A Moment - A Lifetime

by Meraad



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Character Death, F/M, Lyrium Addiction, Mental Disintegration, Mild Smut, Post-Trespasser, a general clusterfuck of words
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-24
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2018-11-18 07:56:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11286966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meraad/pseuds/Meraad
Summary: Life isn't so easy, but neither one is giving up.





	1. Sa'vunin (One more day)

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, this started out as something utterly depressing. I wanted to CRY. Then... I don't know what happened. It didn't satisfy my need for angst.

_The devil's on your shoulder_  
_The strangers in your head_  
_As if you don't remember_  
_As if you can forget_  
_It's only been a moment_  
_It's only been a lifetime_  
_But tonight you're a stranger_  
_Some silhouette_

 

“Cullen,” Maris said his name softly, so as not to startle him. She needn't have worried. He wasn't really there. He stood with his arm propped against the edge of the window and stared out at nothing. “Cullen, ma’lath,” Maris reached out and touched his shoulder. “Come to bed.” 

He looked at her. Through her. Saw her, but didn't see her. “She'll be back soon.” 

“Who will, Vhenan?” 

Cullen's brow knit together. Eyes almost focusing for a second, then he blinked and was lost again. “The Inquisitor,” he said with a half smile.

Maris closed her eyes. “Cullen,” her voice hitched. It was never any easier. There were good days and bad days. The bad coming more and more often. How long until there was no recognition? How long until he looked at her, at Rory, and saw only strangers? 

A quiet wail from the other room and Maris turned and walked away from Cullen. “Hush, da'len.” She leaned over the crib and picked up the fussing little boy. 

“Mamama,” he cried, clinging to her. Tiny hands fisting her shirt. Maris cradled him against her chest, rocked him gently.

“Shh, mama's right here, Rory.” 

“Maris,” Cullen's voice came from the doorway. She turned and the little boy, half asleep, held out a hand toward Cullen. 

“Da,” he murmured.

“Da's here,” Cullen reached out, touched Rory's hand, then cupped the top of his head, his other hand going to Maris' waist. She could see the tears shining in Cullen's eyes and her heart ached for the man she loved. He pressed his forehead against Maris' and closed his eyes against the tears that wanted to fall. They stood like that until Rory drifted back off to sleep. “How long?” Cullen croaked.

He knew that he lost time, lost himself. Hated it. Hated the burden he was on Maris. “A few hours,” she told him softly and allowed him to take Rory from her embrace. He pressed a kiss to the top of Rory's head and then rocked him, humming softly as he carried him the short distance back to the crib. 

Maris dashed away the tear that rolled down her cheek before Cullen turned back to her. “Come to bed,” she said, holding her hand out to him. 

Cullen took it, held the slender fingers between his, then brought them up to press a kiss against her knuckles. “I love you,” he told her.

“I know,” she murmured, cupping his jaw. “And I, you.” She took a step backward, drew him from the room and lead him down the short hallway to the room they shared. Cullen tugged her against his chest as they crossed the threshold. Lips met, fingers found flesh. Maris gasped as Cullen lifted her, her legs wound around his waist, her arm curled around his shoulders, fingers slipping into his hair. 

He helped her tug her shirt off, then proceeded to pepper kisses over her chest as he carried her across the room to their bed. He tasted salt on the kiss and drew back enough to look at her. “Maker,” he breathed up, his hand sliding along her throat, her jaw and then into her hair. “Don't cry,” he begged softly.

Cullen pressed his forehead to hers and closed his eyes. It killed him, knowing the pain he caused her. The lyrium had ultimately destroyed him. He'd let it go for too long. It had begun years ago with simple lost moments. Heartbeats of time where he'd forget what he was doing or who he was talking to. He remembered going out to the stable that afternoon with Rory, feeding the hart. Then nothing.

“I wouldn't trade a moment,” she told him, cupping his jaw. 

He wished he could trade something, to know that Maris wouldn't hurt. Her hand danced down his shoulder, over his back, then dipped beneath his shirt. She tugged and he rose up, helped her pull it over his head. He stayed half propped up, letting her slide her hand along his chest, before he caught her hand, laced their fingers together and pressed it to the bed beside her head. “You are my heart,” he told her and used his free hand to slid over her chest, pausing to caress the curve of each breast before slipping along her stomach. 

Her breath hitched and she arched, belly trembling beneath his touch. Cullen kissed a trail down her throat, nipped at her collarbones, then dragged his tongue between her breasts. “Cullen-” she breathed, hand tightening on his.

Cullen felt desperate for her. The taste of her, touch of her. He needed her because with her he was whole. He wasn't a fractured former Templar. He paused at her stomach, kissed each stretch mark on her belly, before continuing down to the waistband of the loose skirt she wore. He tugged loose the tie and Maris lifted her hips to help him slide it down. It pooled on the floor and he shoved it out of the way before brushing an open-mouthed kiss against the inside of her knee.

Every noise she made was the sweetest sound to his ears. He moved back up her body, she used one foot to help him shove his trousers down his legs, then he was over her, in her. Maris cried out, arched, stared into his eyes as he began to move. “Vhenan,” she panted. 

Cullen lifted her hand up, held it over her head. The other went down her side, stroked her side, hip, cupped her behind, angled her hips. Their bodies moved in tandem, so long familiar with each other. They knew each piece of the other. He knew just what it would take to push Maris over the edge, and claimed her lips the moment before she went over, then promptly followed after. 

Later, they lay, limbs entangled, Cullen's breathing slow and steady as he lay with his head pillowed on Maris' chest. She was tired, but awake, fingers gently combing through his hair as he slept. She knew that one day he wouldn't come back to her, though she prayed to the Gods every night for one more day with him. One more day for Rory. 

A tear rolled down her cheek and she pressed her face into the crown of his head. “‘Ma’sal’shiral, love of my life,” she breathed. 

 

Morning came too early, with the scent of cooking food and soft babbling from the other room. Maris dragged on Cullen's discarded shirt from the night before and padded into the kitchen. Cullen wore only trousers, which hung low on his hips, and he sat on the floor with Rory and the wooden horses Thom had carved for the little boy. 

Rory laughed and clapped at the horse noises Cullen made and Maris leaned against the door frame to watch the two. _Today_ , she thought, _will be a good day_ , as Cullen glanced over his shoulder, gave her a crooked grin and a wink before pressing a kiss to the top of Rory's head and going back to making the horses gallop over the boys legs.


	2. Little Reminders

Pieces were missing. He knew that. He knew that the woman in the bed beside him was his wife. Her body slender and soft, curved against his was familiar. Cullen knew that he was absolutely in love with her and their son.

But still, there were pieces that were just gone.

Lost.

All thanks to his drug-addled mind. He sat up on the edge of the bed and rubbed his hand over his face.

“Cullen?” came Maris' sleep-filled voice.

“Shh,” he murmured, reaching out to touch the hand she held out toward him. “Bathroom,” he told her. “I'll check on Rory.”

She hummed softly and turned tugging on the blankets and promptly drifted back off to sleep.

Cullen pushed up from the bed and did as he'd promised, poking his head in to look at Rory, sleeping soundly, hands flopped over his head, with a stuffed nug at his side. Then he walked down the hallway and into the living room.

He'd started leaving himself notes here and there. Places where Maris' wouldn't look.

Reminders for himself.

_Maris is your wife._ Written in a small notebook of his.

_The elvhen woman is Maris._

_She was the Inquisitor._ Scrawled in the back of one of his favorite books.

_She lost her arm because of the mark. ~~Solas saved her~~._

_You love her._ A scrap piece of paper in his shaving kit.

_The boy is your son._

_You love them._

He was terrified of the day when the notes didn't help. When the little reminders didn't at least help him hide the fact that he wasn't the man his wife and son knew any longer.

Mia would help, he knew. Branson and Rosalie as well. The others that had remained friends from their days in the Inquisition. But it was little comfort. Wandering back down the hall, Cullen stood in the doorway.

Maris slept curled on her side, her hand tucked up beside her face, blankets kicked off. She had a habit of doing that, who would drag them back up around her when he was gone? Silently, he crossed the room, tried to memorize her. The way her dark hair spread over the pillow, full lips parted just slightly. Her vallaslin pale against her tanned skin. Bowing his head, he sent up a silent prayer. _More time. Just give me more time with them._

 


	3. Fade me away, I won't ever be the same

_I never strayed_  
_Let it bury you away_  
_In all your blame, in all your pain_  
_I will carry you always_  
_Fade me away, I won't ever be the same_

 

 

Maris was certain she'd never been so afraid in all her life. Not when she'd first awakened with Cassandra standing over her, not when she faced down Corypheus and brought the mountain over Haven down on her head. Not even

going up against the Qunari and finding they were going after Solas.

Two days had passed and Cullen was gone. There were sightings of him on a horse, heading away from Honnleath. Now nothing. Branson and Mia's husband had gone looking for him, and restless, Maris had joined, Rory staying with Rosalie and the other children.

“We'll find him,” Mia said, her voice so sure that Maris desperately wanted to believe her.

“What if it's too late? He would have come home...” she trailed off. He would, wouldn't he? Of course, he would. There was absolutely no reason for him not to return. She skimmed her fingers over her stomach and bowed her head. If he were hurt, that was one thing. But if he was staying away willingly?

She swallowed hard, feeling the nausea building, and quickly ducked behind a bush as she began to heave. Tears rolled down her cheeks and she sunk down to her knees. “Does he know?” Mia asked softly, kneeling beside Maris, her hand coming out to rub the other woman's back lightly.

“Yes,” she choked out. “I told him the day before he...” He'd seemed dumbfounded, and far from happy. She understood, but she also knew that he wouldn't be with her forever, and to have another piece of him, another child that was his, that had his eyes, or his hair, his smile. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand she looked at Mia. “Did he say anything to you...? You'd tell me, right?”

Mia gave her a disbelieving look. “Maris, don't be silly. You know Cullen loves you, and Rory, and will love this new child just as much. You are everything to him.”

“He wasn't happy. Not like when I told him I was with child the first time, with Rory.”

“It wasn't as bad then,” Mia reminded her.

“We fought the other day,” Maris told her, wiping away a tear. Mia just waited. “Solas. I don't know why... I mean, I thought that was settled. I made the choice a long time ago, I chose Cullen. My infatuation with Solas was simply a passing fancy. Cullen is-” her voice caught and she let out a quiet sob. “Cullen is my everything.” Maris had a flashing realization of how selfish she was being. “I'm sorry,” she shook her head and pushed back up to her feet.

She was the Inquisitor for Mythal's sake. “Its late,” she pushed back her hair and straightened her shoulders, reminding herself that she was strong. She'd fought demons and red lyrium addicted Templars. A fleeting thought, the horror, of Cullen having been one of those Templars. Maris swallowed hard.

“Why are you apologizing?” Mia asked, the woman was almost a whole head taller than Maris, so she had to look up to meet her gaze.

“He is your brother.”

“Yes, I thought we'd been over this already, Maris. Cullen is my brother, you are my sister-in-law.”

“I simply meant that-”

“That I have more right to worry than you? Nonsense. You've spent more time with my brother than I have as an adult. You are the one who convinced him to take the time and write to me. He is my brother, and it breaks my heart to know that the two of you hurt so much. If anyone deserves respite it is the two of you.”

Maris wished for that as well, but she knew better. “Still, it is late, I should take Rory home.” The mounted their horses and returned to town. Maris gathered a sleeping Rory in her arms and after hugs and kissed cheeks she headed for home.

The house was dark and her chest ached, the 'what if's reeking havoc on her mind. She nudged her hart into the stable, then let herself into the house. Rory didn't stir as she carried him down to his room and tucked him into bed. Play-dates with his cousins always exhausted him. She pressed a kiss to his head and then silently closed the door as she left his room. The house was too quiet, too empty. She'd never spent a night away from Cullen so long as they had lived in their little cabin.

She walked down to their room, lit a candle and stared at the tousled sheets. Maris was so tired, she wanted to sleep, yet she didn't. Afraid of the dreams, the nightmares, that would come. Afraid that she'd wake up and the nightmare would be a reality and Cullen would be gone forever. Stripping slowly, she found one of Cullen's shirts and drew it over her head. It held the scent of him, and when she crawled into bed, she hugged his pillow to her chest and inhaled deeply before the tears began to fall again.

 

_Maris was searching. Walking beside a river. She saw the horse. Cullen's horse standing with its head bowed, eating the grass. No, she thought. No. “Cullen,” she called, her voice wavering. “Cullen!” Then she saw him. Her heart stopped, her lung seized and she could feel the blood leaving her face. There he was, on the rocky shore of the river. Just sleeping, her mind protested, but she knew._

_She knew._

_Half in the water, eyes staring blankly up at the early morning sky. Lips blue. Hair a wet tangled mess. She sunk to her knees beside him and rested her hand on his chest._

_She knew._

_Willed it to rise._

_But she knew._

_Maris had failed. She hadn't been able to help him. Hadn't kept him safe. What would she tell Rory? This new child when they were old enough to ask? That she had failed._

 

The bed dipped, Maris sat up quickly, gasping for breath. Cullen sat on the edge of the bed, his eyes heavy, full of sorrow. It took several moments for Maris' brain to catch up. She reached out slowly, touched his chest, warm fabric, soft beneath her fingertips. Then she punched him hard in the shoulder. “I hate you!” she hissed before launching herself into his arms.

Cullen caught her, his arms banding around her waist, one hand tangling in her hair as she pressed her face into the crook of his neck. Hot tears burned his skin and he reciprocated, pressing his face into her throat as his own tears fell.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” she mumbled. “I don't hate you. I'm sorry. I love you. I love you.”

“Shhh,” Cullen whispered, tightening his hold. “I'm sorry,” he told her, then leaned back on the bed, holding her against him.

“I was so worried,” she told him a while later, finally having lifted her face to meet his eyes. She touched him everywhere. Hand skimming his chin, his chest, stroking his hair back from his face. “It's nearly been three days,” her voice cracked.

“I know,” he told her, brow knitting. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean-”

Maris stared, then blinked slowly and withdrew from his arms. She sat up, then stood, wrapping her arm around her waist. “How long?”

“I woke up yesterday morning in a small town south of here.” Cullen sat up again, rested his elbows on his knees. Yesterday morning, she thought, glancing out the window, saw the sun beginning to rise. “Maris,” he held out a hand but she stepped back.

“I was searching for you, Mia, Branson, we were all looking, worried sick and you were-” her breath hitched. “I know you aren't happy about the child-”

“Maker, no!” Cullen hit his knees in front of Maris, he caught her hand and pressed his forehead to her stomach. “Don't think that, Maris. I beg you. It is getting worse, all of it. You have my family, but they aren't your family. Not like your clan-”

“They are your family. You need them,” she insisted, tugging her hand free of his.

Cullen caught her hand again, pressed his lips to it. “My love,” he breathed. “Listen to me. You need your clan, you need their support.”

“Cullen Stanton Rutherford, if you think for one second I am leaving you-” she was yelling, tears were rolling down her face and she was terrified that this was the end. That this was where he'd send her away and she'd never see him again.

“Not a fucking chance,” he told her, his arms going around her waist. She was so caught off guard by his cursing that she just stood there. He nuzzled the shirt up, pressed a soft kiss against the soft swell of her belly. Maris ran her fingers through his hair, waited. “You, Rory and I will go to your clan. I wrote to Keeper Deshanna already. Asked if she would allow it.” He tugged a letter from his back pocket and handed it to her.

Maris couldn't see anything through the tears in her eyes. But at the bottom of the page she saw the words 'Come home, Da'len.' and sunk down to her knees in front of Cullen.

 

 


	4. Forgetting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen forgets who Maris is.
> 
> Served up with one giant helping of angst.

“Who are you?” Cullen stared at the woman in front of him. Her dark hair, with silver strands mostly at the temples, fell past her shoulders and she looked... tired. Defeated. He watched her intently as she reached up and rubbed her forehead. She wore a ring on her right hand, a wedding band? He wondered, as her left arm was gone just above the elbow. What had happened to her?

“I can't-” her voice broke and she pressed her fingers to her lips. She drew in a deep breath, turned away from him.

“Where am I, can you answer that?” He wasn't where he should be. This was not Kirkwall. No, wait, he had left Kirkwall after Knight-Commander Meredith had gone insane. “Seeker Cassandra,” he said. “Where is she? We left Kirkwall together,” he said, brow furrowing.

The woman made a very unladylike snorting sound. “Oh, we've passed Kirkwall? That's an improvement! Yesterday you were convinced I was a desire demon at Kinloch Hold.”

A flare of recognition sparked at the edge of his mind, but it was gone in an instant. He remembered Kinloch Hold. Maker. Just the thought of it made his headache. When was the last time he'd taken the lyrium? Surely he was overdue- but he'd wanted to stop. To not use it. But it would help his head. Just one more time, then he'd quit.

“You haven't had lyrium in years, Cullen,” the woman threw her hands up in the air. “Seven years, to be more precise.”

Had he spoken out loud? He must have. He shook his head, no, that isn't right, he'd only just- A child's wail made him wince, the ear-splitting sound and a child? Maker, where was he?

 

The woman turned without a word and walked away. He stared after her, heard quiet cooing sounds, gentle shushing, and the wailing subsided. He looked around the room, trying to figure out where he was. Was he being held hostage? By that small woman? No, unless there were more people holding him there. But why would they with a child in the next room?

There was nothing in the room that told him where he was, or who the woman was. Wooden furniture, with big cushions and thick blankets. A small crate overflowing with a child's toys. He ran a hand through his hair, scratched the back of his head. He could walk out the door unless it was barred from the outside. But again, why?

He stared at the door, even if it were barred, it didn't look all that sturdy, a good kick and it would come off the hinges, it would probably take the whole house with it. Instead, he walked through the doorway the woman had gone through. She sat in the center of the bed in the middle of the room. A tiny infant at her breast. “Maker,” he choked, held his hands up, blocked his view. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-”

“For fucks-sake, Cullen. You've seen my breasts,” the woman sounded angry, and he didn't know why. Nor did he understand what she was talking about. He'd seen her- he felt heat scorch his cheeks at the thought. By no means was he a virgin, but he had no memory of this woman.

“If you would just tell me who you are,” he tried, peering past his hands to look at her face, blocking the view of the suckling child. He saw her close her eyes, face crumpling before she ducked it down and pressed her lips to the baby's head.

“I'm your wife,” she said, voice a broken sob. “Maris Lavellan-Rutherford, we have been married for nearly four and a half years.”

No, the word was on the tip of his tongue, ready to spring from his lips, but for some reason, he held back. Wife? Of course not. Kirkwall had literally just gone up in flames. This was some sort of an elaborate ruse, for what, he had no idea. But he couldn't fathom why she would tell him this. At some point, he'd dropped his hands and watched as she, Maris, shifted the baby onto her shoulder, and patted its back until it let out a soft belch.

She began to hum softly and that recognition was there in the corner of his mind again. He knew the song, remembered it.

_Tel'enfenim, da'len_

_Irassal ma ghilas_

_Ma garas mir renan_

_Ara ma'athlan vhenas_

_Ara ma'athlan vhenas_

 

His eyes slipped shut and he leaned heavily against the door frame. How could he know the words to that song? He sunk down to the floor, pressed his face into his hands. Maris in a rocking chair, in a different room, a different house, a different baby in her arms, singing softly. _“Look at what we made,” voice full of wonder._

“Cullen?” her voice wasn't full of wonder this time, it was full of worry. “Ma'lath, are you alright?”

He shook his head, heels of his hands pressed against his eyes. The lyrium. It was a losing battle. A piece of paper hidden away. _You love her._

“Please, Vhenan, talk to me.”

Cullen forced his head up, looked at her. She was crying, tears rolling down her cheeks because he couldn't remember her. But she had been angry. She'd screamed and yelled and sobbed, and the tiny baby in her arms- “What did you name her?” the words felt like glass on his tongue, down his throat.

“I haven't yet,” she shifted on the bed. “Are you-” she pursed her lips. “Do you remember?”

He shook his head, because no, no he didn't remember, not everything. Some pieces. He loved her. This woman who had dealt with so much because of him. He could never repay her. Mother of his children. Children. Tears filled his eyes. He hadn't been there for her, had he?

“Come and meet your daughter, Vhenan,” she said softly.

He didn't deserve her. Slowly he got up, the pain in his head still there, but ebbing just a bit. He walked over to the bead, and sunk down onto it, turning with one knee propped up on the bed so he could face Maris, could look at the baby. “Hold her,” Maris said, and Cullen broke out into a cold sweat, suddenly terrified he'd hurt her somehow. She was so small, so fragile looking. “You've done this before, ma'lath, it's okay.”

“Rory,” their son's name was a whisper on his lips, and then with the gentlest hands, he took the baby. She was swaddled in a blanket, dark green with golden embroidery around the edges. The fuzz on the top of her head was golden, a shade paler than Cullen's own hair. Tender fingers lightly touched it and a smile curved his lips.

“She needs a name,” Maris said softly, she had shifted closer, her hand resting against Cullen's arm in a way that touched both his bare skin, while her fingers rested over the baby as well. “Three days old and no name, that just won't do.”

Three days. It was no wonder Maris had screamed at him, more than three days gone from her, and she'd had to go through it alone. “I'm sorry,” he said, his heart ached from the sorrow he knew he caused her. “How do you put up with me?” he asked, genuinely curious.

“I love you,” she told him, then lifted her hand up to stroke along his jaw. “Ma' sal' lath mar. My soul, and yours, they match.” She slid her hand down to rest over his heart. “That isn't to say that there aren't times when I don't like you very much, but I love you, Cullen.”

His heart felt as if it might explode. “Ara sa'lath,” he knew he'd butchered the pronunciation from the way her lips curved up. Memories of her teaching him, telling him he didn't have to learn her language, but he was determined because it was hers.

“And you are mine,” she told him, slid her hand down again to rest on his forearm. “But our daughter does still need a name.”

Cullen looked down at the girl, grief swelled inside of him at the knowledge that he'd not get to watch her grow up. He wouldn't know what kind of woman she'd turn out to be. But knowing her mother, she'd be amazing. “Ma'Sova'na.”

“My golden dream,” Maris whispered. “Sova'na.”

“Sova'na,” Cullen echoed. “I'm sorry, Maris. I'm so sorry.”

“For what, ma'lath?” She had moved closer, rested her cheek against his shoulder while they watched Sova'na sleep.

“Everything,” Cullen murmured. “I've failed you in so many ways-”

“Hush,” she said softly. “It isn't easy, but these moments, these are the moments that make everything worthwhile. I should fetch Rory, he's with Nehal and Ellonne.”

The names caused that spark again and Cullen nodded. “Let's go get him,” Cullen agreed.

“They are right next door, it will only take a moment,” she looked up at him, Cullen imagined she saw the worry on his face. What if he forgot again. What if for a moment- what if he did something and hurt their perfect creation? “Let's go get Rory,” she said, brushing a kiss against his jaw.

They stood, and Cullen continued to hold Sova'na protectively against his chest, so careful. “Maris,” he said and she turned to him and he smiled, just a small one, the corner of his mouth twisting up. “I love you.”

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A good day
> 
> Be forewarned, this chapter has some sex in it... it isn't graphic, at least, not in my opinion, by no means is it explicit. But it's there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally I hadn't planned to write more than the first chapter. It was just going to be a one-shot. But now I know how this ends, and I might have made myself cry when I figured it out. I mean, I knew the inevitable outcome but hadn't actually planned it. 
> 
> Next chapter contains major-character death. Just so you know. If you're reading this, and don't want that then don't read beyond this chapter. I'm going to change the archive warnings, but in case you miss that, I'm putting up a warning.

The sound of rain pattering against the rooftop drew Maris out of a light doze. She blinked and glanced to where Sova'na lay on a blanket, wearing only a diaper, sleeping with the same abandon as her brother did. Thank the Gods for the rain. It had been so hot the last several weeks, and the fields were in desperate need of water. It was still warm, but with the rain came a breeze that flowed through the open windows. 

It didn't take long for the sound of children's gleeful shouts to filter in. Maris made her way to the door, pulled it open and smiled at the sight of nearly all the clan's children playing in a rapidly growing mud pit. Several adults stood on the edge of the puddle, not minding the rain, but unwilling to jump headlong into the mud. Except for one. 

Maris glanced back at Sova'na, still sleeping, and walked the short distance to watch the scene. One man sat in the middle of the puddle. The mud monster, apparently, dragging the children into the puddle to their shrieking delight. “Momma!” Rory exclaimed from atop the man's shoulders. 

She couldn't help but laugh, father and son were covered head to toe, Cullen smiled, a flash of white teeth in the dark russet colored mud. Cullen lifted Rory from his shoulders, pushed to his feet and took a step toward Maris. “Don't you dare,” she told him holding up her hand. “And you're not coming into the house like that either.” She barely got the words out before he swept her up into his arms.

Maris let out a screech, but it broke off into laughter as he pressed muddy kisses all over her face. “Cullen! You absolute bastard! Look at what you did!” she yelled when he released her. The lightweight dress she'd been a pale yellow, loose and flowing, now clung to her with dark patches of the mud. Hand on her hip she glared at him, or at least, she tried to. But the grin he gave her, made her heart flutter in her chest, just like it always did. 

“Why don't you two go down to the river and get cleaned up,” Ellonne suggested. “I'll keep an eye on the little ones,” she said, already heading for the open door to their small cabin. It really was little more than a lean-to, and only one of the few. Most of the clan preferred their tents or the aravels, but during the hotter days, a blanket or hammock was all that they needed.

Cullen caught Maris' hand, gave it a tug and they walked silently down the path to the river. “You were having fun,” Maris said. “I shouldn't have taken you away from that.” 

“I think your son shoved mud in my ears,” he said, giving his head a shake.

She laughed. “Oh, when he misbehaves, he's mine?”

“Of course,” Cullen said, tugging her close and brushing a kiss over her mouth.

Maris sputtered and laughed, wiping the mud from her lips with the back of her hand. They reached the pool at the river that was used mainly for bathing, and secret trysts. This one, not so secret since the entire clan had witnessed their departure. “I'll wash your back,” Cullen said, pulling off his boots.

“Hm,” she murmured, stepping into the water, watching him tug the other boot off. She was already barefoot and by the time Cullen reached her, the water was up to her thighs. “Somehow, I don't believe you.” He moved in for another kiss and she pushed at his chest. “I am not kissing those muddy lips again.” 

He flashed her a grin, dove into the water, scrubbed his hands over his face and then he was pulling her into his arms, kissing her, tongue stroking against hers. Maris felt weightless, she curled her arm around his shoulders and let him carry them deeper into the water. She wound her legs around his waist and he groaned into her mouth.

“Maker's breath, Maris,” he murmured, pressing his forehead against hers. The last few weeks had been good. Cullen had often gone out with the clan members who hunted. She missed that, the hunting, but with only the one arm, she couldn't draw her bow, and despite the crossbow, Dagna had outfitted her with, it wasn't the same. 

Cullen carried her across the river and to the grassy shore on the far side. The rain still fell in soft droplets and Cullen licked them from her skin, her shoulders her throat, and after he dragged the thin dress off her, her breasts, her belly, and her thighs. “Off,” she demanded, tugging at his wet shirt. He tore it over his head, then shed his breeches. Then Maris pushed him onto his back and kissed a trail down his body, reveled in each moan, each hitch in his breath. 

He pulled her back up his body and she straddled him, sunk down onto him, claimed his mouth for her own. They moved in tandem, Cullen's hands on her thighs, helping her move over him. Cullen saw that Maris found her end first, then followed her over. He clutched her to his chest, his face buried in her neck. He could have happily stayed in that moment forever, her soft humming as she stroked her fingers through his hair. But he wanted, no he needed, to spend ever lucid moment he could with his family, with Maris, and Rory and Sova'na. Because he knew, that far too soon, he'd run out of time with them. 

They redressed, in their wet clothing, and he didn't miss Maris' scowl. “What prompted you to jump in the mud with the kids?” she asked, holding his hand as they began to walk back toward the camp.

“Actually,” he rubbed the back of his head with his free hand. “I started it.” 

Maris laughed, threw back her head and let out a full body laugh. Then she tugged on his hand and he caught her around the waist and they kissed. The rain still falling through the leaves around them. Her heart clenched because she wanted her children to always remember these moments. She hoped Rory was old enough that he would still remember it years down the line. More time, she just needed more time.

“Hey,” Cullen caught her chin between his fingers. “None of that,” he said, seeing the tears in her eyes.

“There isn't enough time,” she whispered. “There will never be enough.” Maris pressed her face against his chest and closed her eyes. Cullen stroked his hand down the back of her head, over and over for several minutes until she'd composed herself enough. “Alright, we should go give your son a bath.” 

Cullen chuckled, pressed a kiss to her temple and then they were off again. By the time they returned, most of the kids had been dragged from the mud, though there were a few holdouts. Rory was one of them. He promptly ran and launched himself into Cullen's arms. The slightly cleaner shirt was immediately covered in mud again. 

“Bath time,” Maris said as they walked to their cabin. Ellonne was rocking a fussing Sova'na when they came through the door.

“Perfect timing, this little one just woke up hungry.” Ellone passed the baby to Maris, then pressed a kiss to Cullen's cheek and after wiping clean a spot on Rory's she kissed his cheek as well, then she was gone. 

Rory anxiously waited, hopping from one foot to the other in the kitchen while Cullen pulled out the tub and began the tedious task of filling it with hot water, then tempering it with cold, while Maris sat at their small table and nursed Sova'na. 

Hours later, everyone clean and dry and fed, they sat on the living room floor, listening to Cullen's dramatic reading of one of Rory's favorite books. Sova'na lay in the crook of Cullen's arm, Rory sat across his outstretched legs, stuffed nug in hand, and Maris took in every detail. The way Cullen would lean down and kiss the top of Sova'na's head every now and then, or how he used different voices to make Rory giggle. 

Later still, Rory in his own bed, Sova'na in her cradle beside Cullen and Maris' bed, Cullen pulled Maris into his arms. “An eternity wouldn't be long enough,” he murmured and kissed her softly.


	6. One Last Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The good days come to an abrupt end.
> 
> MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want some depressing companion music to listen to while you read this, I listened to Carry Me Home by The Sweeplings( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2BnRyb1puIA ) and One Last Time by Jaymes Young ( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X3G95eeVym0 ) on repeat while I wrote.

_Quietly I feel your whisper settle on me, quietly I'm carried on_   
_Quietly I feel your whisper settle on me, quietly you let me go_

 

 

Maris knelt in the dirt, not caring about the damage to the white dress she wore. She dug into the ground. The rains had dried, and the earth was hard under her fingers. She felt hollow, empty. She had cried for days and didn't think she had a single tear left inside of her. Her finger caught on something sharp, a broken twig, blood welled, still, she dug. Finally, the hole was deep enough, she stared at it. She leaned forward, her hands resting in the hole and she screamed, heart full of anguish.

“ _It's better this way,”_ Cullen's voice was a quiet rasp, full of pain, there was sorrow in his eyes, but relief too. With those words, Maris would be left to wander for the rest of her life, if it had truly been an accident. Cullen was so surefooted, she wasn't sure she'd ever seen him falter. But the fall, there had been no guarantee that it would have killed him. It could have ended with just an injury, it could have killed him instantly.

 

_Maris sat with Ellonne, her best friend since childhood, they were laughing at something silly and trivial, in the way that friends do. Just as their laughter would start to quiet, they would glance at each other, and off they went again. Maris' belly ached, tears streamed down her cheeks, and she couldn't stop. Until Deylan appeared at the edge of her vision, chest heaving, eyes wide with horror. “What is it?” Maris was on her feet in an instant, laughter forgotten in the knot of fear taking over her belly now. She looked behind him, looking for the others. Deylan, Lira, Sa'rrel, and Cullen had gone out a few hours earlier, checking the traps, setting new ones. But Deylan was alone._

“ _He slipped. He fell. Come quickly,” Deylan said in a rush and Maris looked to Ellonne._

“ _Go, I've got the little ones, go!”_

_Then Maris was running, Deylan leading the way. She spotted Lira standing at the edge of the ravine. She was peering over the edge, but as the approached Lira turned. “Oh, Maris-”_

_Maris shook her head because it couldn't be real. Couldn't be happening. But she forced herself to look over the edge. Cullen lay on the riverbank, Sa'rrel kneeling beside him. Too late, the words echoed in her mind. His eyes were closed, he wasn't moving. “No,” she breathed._

“ _Sa'rrel!” Deylan hollered and the other man looked up, leaned over Cullen and then his eyes opened._

_He'll be fine, she told herself as she quickly looked for the easiest way down the embankment. It was steep and she wondered what had happened. Maris had to get to him. “There,” Lira said, pointing to a wide fallen tree. She saw the tracks that Sa'rrel must have made when he'd gone down._

_Maris slipped, scraped her knees, scratched the palm of her hand on the bark, nearly pitched head over heels at one point, but finally, she reached the bottom and ran the short distance to Cullen. Sa'rrel immediately stood and allowed her to take his place._

“ _Oh, Vhenan,” she said taking his hand._

“ _Maris,” he said with a half smile._

“ _It's okay, you'll be okay,” she said, eyes scanning over him. “Just hold on.” He gave her hand a squeeze and she stared at the blood seeping through his trousers beneath the tourniquet on his thigh. She forced her eyes away and met his gaze. “You'll be fine,” Maris told him, then lightly laid her hand against his cheek. “Ma'lath,” her voice broke. His lip had split, cuts and scrapes littered his face. She looked up the ravine from where he lay. It was the steepest incline along the whole length._

“ _Maris,” he said again, his hand tightening on hers._

“ _The healer will be here soon,” she insisted, but Maris knew, it wouldn't matter. There was so much blood. “How-”_

“ _Slipped,” he said with a pained laugh. “Didn't realize I was so close to the edge, all that rain,” he trailed off. “I love you,” he told her and Maris shook her head._

“ _No,” her voice was a bite. “No. Don't you dare.”_

“ _Maris,” he murmured._

“ _Fenedhis!” Tears filled her eyes. “I said no!” She leaned forward, pressed her face into his shirt, could smell earth and blood and Cullen. “Please, no,” she begged softly, fingers tightening on his hand. Cullen's free hand came up and cupped the back of her head._

“ _I love you,” he said again and a sob broke free from her throat._

“ _Stop it, you can't. You can't leave me. Not like this.” She lifted her face, stared into his eyes, and she could see the pain written across his face. “What do I tell Rory? Sova'na? She isn't old enough-”_

“ _That I love them, too. More than anything in this world.”_

“ _I hate you,” she sobbed. “Don't you dare leave me. You made a vow, you can't leave me.” She could feel her heart breaking. “This isn't how it was supposed to happen. It wasn't supposed to be like this.”_

“ _Give me a kiss, my love.” It was a request she couldn't deny, she pressed her lips to his and tasted blood and her own tears._

“ _Don't leave,” she begged. “Please, Cullen. What will I tell your family?”_

_He coughed a ragged sound and then stroked his hand along her cheek. “We already said our goodbyes.” He pressed his lips against her temple. “It's better this way,” Cullen said softly. “The last weeks, they've been good.”_

_After several bad weeks, where Cullen wasn't at all with them mentally, the last few weeks had been good. “No,” she breathed. “I wanted forever. I wanted more babies and dogs-”_

_He smiled sadly. “Give my hound a good belly rub for me, would you?” The mabari he'd found when they'd attended the Exalted Council at the Winter Palace had been commanded to stay and keep watch over Mia and the others._

“ _Absolutely not,” she told him. “I'm not ready,” Maris whispered. “Cullen, please, I'm not ready to be alone.”_

“ _You won't be alone, love. I'll always be with you, you have Rory and Sova'na, your clan, my family. I love you.”_

“ _But they aren't you,” she choked out. “Don't leave me.”_

“ _I love you,” he murmured._

“ _Don't leave me,” she countered, but she knew. She knew. She had to let him go. But she couldn't._

“ _I love you,” he said again and she wanted to scream and rail at the unfairness of it all._

_Finally, Maris rested her forehead against his, stared into his eyes and with a ragged breath, she let go. “I love you, Cullen. It's okay. I love you. Ma’sal’shiral. Ar lath ma vhenan, Falon’Din enasal enaste. Go to the Maker's side, my love. I love you. I love you. I love you.”_

“ _I love you,” his voice was barely a whisper._

“ _Ar lath ma vhenan,” she repeated it over and over, tears streaming down her cheeks as she felt his grip on her hand grow weaker. Between one heartbeat and the next, he was gone. Maris wailed, pressed her face to his chest and sobbed._

_Gone. He was gone._

_The reality of it tore at her. Cullen was gone. He'd never come back._

 

She reached out blindly, found the small bag it held two seeds, she pulled out one and held it in her hand, it was so small, just a little thing, that would one day grow into one of the other giants that overlooked the forest. “I love you, Cullen,” she murmured. “Falon’Din enasal enaste. Cross the Veil and the Fade and all the stars in the sky. Rest at the Maker's right hand, and be Forgiven,” her voice broke, and the tears she'd thought she couldn't cry any more began to fall once again.

With the utmost care, Maris laid the seed in the bottom of the hole. “Rory doesn't understand,” she said softly, laying the small lopsided heart-shaped rock that Rory had found and told her was for Da. “He keeps asking for you. I-” she touched the rock and then the seed. “We're leaving, going back home. Rory and Sova'na need your family.” She sucked in a breath. “I need your family. I need to tell them-”

Gathering a handful of ash from the ceramic jar at her knee, she sprinkled it into the hole. “When we get home, I'll let Rory plant the other seed.” A handful of dirt laid down just as gently. “It wasn't supposed to be like this.” The words were ones she'd said before, over and over. _It wasn't supposed to end like this_. “I wanted forever. We were supposed to grow old together, to see our children grow into adults, to play with our grandchildren. Now I have to do it alone.” She pressed her hand to her face, sobbed. “We fought through so much, worked so hard for just a tiny bit of peace. We should have had forever.”

More dirt, until finally the hole was filled. Maris patted the top. “Until we meet again and my soul is made whole once more,” the words were a whisper. Using the bottle of water she'd brought with her, she carefully poured it over the mound of dirt. Finally, she sat upright, drew in a deep breath and looked around. It was a nice spot, not far from the clan's village, would the clan stay there? Or would they leave, find new grounds. Regardless, this tree, this piece of Cullen, would grow into something beautiful.

Maris stood, picked up the bag with the other seed and the jar of ash gathered from Cullen's funeral pyre. The rest of the ashes would be laid to rest with the other seed when she and her children were settled home again.

 

Weeks later, with the grateful company of Ellonne and Nehal, they arrived at Mia's house. Maris saw the door open, watched Mia step out. It only took a moment for realization to dawn in Mia's eyes. Maris met her halfway up the walkway. “Ir abelas,” Maris said, seeing the tears in Mia's eyes. “I'm sorry. I'm so sor-” Mia yanked Maris into her arms, held her tight.

“Maker, don't apologize. It isn't your fault.” The two women clung to each other as they wept. “How long ago?” Mia asked, pulling away enough to look at Maris, to cup her cheeks and wipe the tears.

“A few weeks, we- I couldn't just write to you.”

“You came all this way just to tell me? Maker, Maris, you didn't need to-” she stroked Maris' hair back from her face. “I knew, Cullen and I said our goodbyes before you left to rejoin your clan, you didn't need-” she looked past her to the wagon.

“We're staying here. Rory and Sova'na need Cullen's family, they need to know about him, about all of you.” She ducked her head. “I need you.” Mia pulled Maris back into her arms, hugged her tighter.

“I can send for the others, do you want them here? Or do you want more time?”

Maris shook her head. “No, send for them, of course. Rory will be so happy to see his cousins again, and you all need to meet Sova'na.”

At Mia's insistence, Ellonne and Nehal joined them, and the evening was spent passing around children and stories about Cullen. Tears and laughter were abundant, and so was the wine. “To Cullen,” Branson said, holding up a glass.

“To Cullen,” the room echoed.

Maris stared into her cup. “Mar?” Mia said softly. “Maybe we should call it a night,” she said, moving to stand.

Maris shook her head. “No, no, this is... nice.” She smiled, then a sound between a laugh and a sob broke free. “I'm pregnant, one last little piece of Cullen.”

Mia sat back in her chair, hard. Her gaze went from Sova'na nestled in Rosalie's arms, to Rory sprawled on the floor with the dog. “Maker, you're going to have your hand full.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that was emotionally draining.


End file.
